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We just sat like that for most of the rest of the day, just holding each other, and occasionally sharing a deep kiss.
By late afternoon, Jiao leaned up some, then gave me a deep, deep kiss.
"Jack, I think I am ready," she said.
I knew what she meant, but decided to tease her a little.
"Oh, you are ready for dinner?" I inquired.
When she realized I was teasing her, I thought for a moment she was going to slap me again!
"Take me to bed, Jack," she finally asked, after giving me an evil eye for a minute or two.
Then she leaned over a little, and sniffed and changed her request:
"On second thought, take me to the shower Jack. You stink!"
And she again kissed me so tenderly.
I tried to stand up, holding her and actually managed to make it half-way to the shower, but my arm finally gave way. It felt a lot better, but I knew it would still be a little time before strength in that arm was restored.
Jiao ran into the kitchen, and grabbed some plastic wrap and covered the bandage to keep it from getting wet, and the two of us took our first shower together.
I love making love in a shower, but in this case I was determined to make love to Jiao back in "our" bed. I wanted to be as gentle with her as I could, and was afraid that standing up, or even sitting down on the bench in the shower, might be too rough on her. So other than spending about 10 minutes washing her breasts and especially her nipples, I pretty much kept my hands to myself.
Unfortunately, Jiao had no such self-imposed constraints.
She kept her hands on my penis, and continuously reached down and cupped my balls in her hands. Then she bent over and started taking me as deeply as she could into her mouth.
The more I protested we needed to go to bed, the more determined she seemed to be that we should make love in the shower.
She kept trying to take more and more of me into her mouth.
I pretty much knew she would never be able to deep-throat me, since I thought she was far too small, so when after about 10 minutes of constant suction my penis did slip into her throat I was amazed.
It felt so incredible I knew I would not be able to last, but when I tried to tell her I was close, she started sucking even harder.
I filled her mouth with my seed, and she swallowed every drop.
When she finished, she pulled my head down and we kissed deeply. I could get used to tasting myself in her mouth.
Then she looked at me, smiled and said so sweetly, "Well, I guess that is it for the night."
I looked at her and had an answer.
"I don't know how much American slang you understand . . ." I started, but she interrupted me.
"Hey, we get to watch imperialistic, decadent, warmongering American films," she said.
"Okay, let's see if you understand this: Now I am going to take you into my bed and I am going to screw your little Communist brains out!" I declared.
She laughed so delightfully, and dropped her voice several octaves deeper.
I was stunned to hear her actually do a credible impression of Robert Duvall, talking to John Wayne in the movieTrue Grit.I found out later that she loved horses, and was a real fan of Westerns!
"I call that bold talk for a one-armed fat man."she said, then added, "Besides, my brains aren't that little!"
We both erupted into laughter. I mean technically, Duvall said "one-eyed" but with my injured arm I knew why she had changed it.
"And I am not fat," I told her, and I wasn't. I had kept myself in very good shape since leaving the Marines.
Then I pulled her against me and kissed her deeply and passionately. As we were kissing, I brought her hand down to my cock which was already nearly at full-mast again.
"You're already hard," she said in amazement.
"And now I AM going to screw your brains out," I told her.
We quickly dried off, then I let her walk ahead of me. Her butt was so sexy!
When we reached our bed, I again covered every inch of her face with my kisses, including her neck and also reamed out her ears. I found out she had incredibly sensitive ears!
I attacked her breasts, and was soon licking and sucking on her nipples. I was actually being a little more forceful than I had been the night before, but I could tell she loved the increased level of force I was using.
She had an orgasm, just from my licking and sucking on her breasts.
My tongue was soon deep inside her, and I brought her to a half-dozen orgasms. I also found out her clit was more sensitive than in most women. Just a few licks, or a hard suck on it almost guaranteed she would go off.
Tonight I started using my fingers. First one, then a second, while keeping my tongue buried inside her.
By the time I was lined up with her center and ready to enter her, she had lost almost all of her English speaking skills.
When I pushed inside her, it was still incredibly tight, but nothing like last night had been.
It didn't take long and I was as deep as I could go, then I began trying to fulfill my promise to "screw her brains out."
By the time I had finished, some 20 minutes later, I had lost count of how many body-shaking, mind-blowing, convulsive orgasms she had had.
Did I screw her brains out?
Quite possibly, because by the time I had finished and filled her insides with my own cum, she had lost both her English and Chinese language skills!
The last ten minutes the only sounds she had been able to make were almost animalistic cries and screams of pleasure, and soon even those stopped as her mouth was opened in a circle, but no sounds were coming out.
I pulled her over on top of me, and for the next 10 minutes the only sound Jiao made was quiet gasps.
Finally, Jiao leaned up a little and looked at me with such a stunned look of amazement and love.
"Can you put my brains back in now?" she asked.
Then we were both laughing again, and exchanging kisses.
"I never thought . . . I never dreamed . . . I never imagined ANYTHING could feel like that," she said, and again kissed me.
"Thank you, thank you for loving me so much," she said, and she was soon asleep still lying on top of me.
I soon followed her into dreamland, but not before wondering what I had ever done to deserve someone like this, such true, unconditional love.
I woke up, I assumed the next morning, to the most incredible feeling.
I looked down, and Jiao was kneeling between my knees and had taken me deep in her mouth.
When she saw that I was awake, she stopped and moved up on the bed until she was beside me, and gave me a wonderful kiss.
"I have already taken a shower, and have been waiting for you to wake up," she said. "I finally decided to wake you up like this!"
I told her how wonderful it felt to be woken up like that, then asked the obvious question.
"How do you feel, down there? Are you sore?" I inquired.
She blushed.
"Not sore, just a little more sensitive," she said, and told me how wonderful the night had been.
"Do you want to make love again?" I asked.
"Oh, Yes! I want to, but I am a little scared it might be too much right now," Jiao answered.
"Well there is more than one way to bring pleasure, and you have already started half of it," I said. "Have you ever heard of '69'?"
She shook her head, and soon I was showing her exactly what that meant. She was on top, and my tongue was deep inside her, while she was taking me as deeply as she could into her mouth.
Since she had told me that she was really sensitive this morning, I was trying to not put too much pressure on her clitoris, but she still had several orgasms before I again filled her mouth with cum. She continued to suck on me while I softened, then she twisted around until we were kissing again.
We could both taste each other.
"If that is only 69, what is 100?" she asked with a grin.
I burst out laughing, and told her again how much I loved her, how truly happy I was for the first time in my life, and how I always wanted to be with her.
She was just about to answer me, no doubt with similar sentiments, when her stomach growled!
Her face turned red as she blushed.
"Didn't I feed you enough just now?" I asked, and we were both laughing again.
We got up and put some clothes on, then walked toward the kitchen holding hands.
It was with some amazement that I realized it was not the morning of our third day there, but only still the night of our second day.
In the confines of the totally enclosed basement, day and night didn't really have much meaning.
Since it was the quickest thing to make, I cooked bacon and eggs, with toast, but this time I laid out some more substantial fare from the sub-zero degree freezer.
After we had finished eating, Jiao started asking questions about the basement, and cabin above.
"Did you build this?" she asked.
I laughed, and said that no, it had been built in the 1950s, by one of the most amazing and colorful characters to come back from the Second World War.
I then told her the story of Theodore Roosevelt Rutledge.
His father had actually served as one of the "Rough Riders" who were a group of men who had served during the Spanish-American War under the command of Theodore Roosevelt.
His father had so admired Roosevelt, that when he had a son, he named him after the man who would one day serve as President of the United States.
Some of the story I had heard directly from Rutledge himself, some I had read in old newspaper accounts, and some in still classified files.
Rutledge had graduated in May, 1941 with a degree in art history, and accepted a teaching job at a very small college here in his native North Carolina. At the time, the job paid next to nothing so teachers were actually expected to take a second job to make ends meet.
On December 7, 1941, the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor.
As soon as I mentioned the Japanese, Jiao shivered.
"I HATE the Japanese," she declared, adding that she had grandparents from Nanking.
I immediately understood. I was something of a student of military history and warfare, especially World War II. If you have never heard of, nor read anything about "The Rape of Nanking," about what the Japanese did to the residents of that city in China, then you really need to read it. But not on a full stomach, because it is almost guaranteed to make you throw up.
Rutledge volunteered for the Army the next day, and with his college degree he was immediately sent to Officer Candidate School. From the middle of 1942 to almost the end of the war, Rutledge fought in almost every major battle in Europe, being wounded on four occasions and receiving multiple medals for bravery.
During the D-Day Invasion at Normandy, Rutledge, now a Colonel, landed at Omaha Beach where he received his fourth wound.
As soon as it became apparent the D-Day Invasion was going to be successful, the Army began looking for men with specialized knowledge. It was well known that the Nazis had stolen priceless artwork from every museum in every country they occupied, and now the Allies needed people with knowledge of art to begin searching for and recovering those pieces of art.
With a degree in art history, plus such a distinguished war record, Rutledge was a natural.
He was soon assigned to the Monuments, Fine Arts, and Archives unit, which had actually been created in 1943.
Rutledge was one of the most successful of the roughly 400 specialists who were trying to located stolen Nazi art. He literally was responsible for returning hundreds of pieces of art, worth hundreds of millions to dollars to their rightful owners, which in most cases were museums.
He continued serving as a "Monument Man," as the group came to be known, even after the war.
Those are the facts. Those are the points all agree on.
After Rutledge returned to North Carolina in 1947, he quickly became one of the largest and richest art dealers in the United States.
He left in 1941, so poor he had to work two jobs. He returned six years later as one of the richest men in the United States.
Within two years, there was a lot of speculation that perhaps Rutledge had not returned all the art treasurers he found.
"Many of those art treasures belonged to prominent Jewish families. And in a lot of cases, the entire family died in Nazi concentration camps, so there were no survivors to return the artwork to. Along with the art work, there were also frequently found large amounts of gold, diamonds, rubies, pearls and other gems," I said.
In 1950, I told Jiao, the United States began an investigation into Rutledge and his business.
"He was outraged. He had been wounded four times, fighting for his country, earned numerous medals for bravery, and now his government was investigating him," I told her.
Rutledge had spent a small fortune in legal fees, fighting the government, and 12 months later the government was unable to prove anything.
But in 1953, they began another investigation. Again he spent a small fortune in legal fees, but the government was unable to come up with a single charge.
"This was also the same time that the Cold War between the United States and the Soviet Union was really heating up, and many people in American had started building bomb shelters," I continued.
"What if you had unlimited funds, and while you might not be sure the Soviets were out to get you, well you were convinced your own government was?" I asked.
"This is the result," I said.
I also explained that the shelter had been designed by the top experts of the day, and was supposed to be able to survive a near direct hit from an atomic bomb.
I told Jiao that each of the four walls was composed of 18 inches of reinforced concrete, six inches of solid lead, then another 18 inches of reinforced concrete.
"The floor is 24 inches of reinforced concrete, and the ceiling is 18 inches of reinforced concrete, 12 inches of lead plates, and another 12 inches of concrete. On top of that is two inches of solid steel plates.
"Inside the walls of the cabin upstairs are two inches of solid steel, the ceiling is one inch of solid steel, and the windows are bulletproof glass.
"The cabin itself won't necessarily stop everything, but it will at least slow them down," I said, "and then they would have to try to penetrate this shelter – if they happen to know about it."
"What about electricity and water?" she asked.
"Water comes from a well several thousand feet directly beneath us, and electricity comes from an array of camouflaged solar panels several thousand feet up in the mountains.
The solar panels were attached to four giant batteries, which stored the electricity.
"Each battery could supply enough electricity to run this basement for a month, or even longer if you conserve energy," I said.
"Heating and cooling is provided by Geo-thermal systems buried underground – deep, deep underground," I stressed.
I told her that Rutledge had continued to provide updates and upgrades for the basement throughout his life.
"So, how did you end up with it," Jiao asked.
"He was having a heart attack, and I saved his life," I said.
I had been driving through the mountains, and saw a car pulled over to the side and a man slumped over the steering wheel. I called 911 and performed CPR until they arrived.
I had given my name the EMTs who responded, and after Rutledge recovered he tried to find me. It took him three months, since my name is not on any tax roll, voter I.D. roll, or anything else.
"I also only pay cash for everything, never use credit cards within a hundred miles of my home," I said.
All Rutledge had was a name, his description of me, and what kind of vehicle I had been driving – and a lot of money.
"He was not only an art historian and art dealer, he was also an excellent artist himself," I said.
"One day I stopped at a nearby convenience store, and saw a painting of my face, with the caption 'Do you know this man? Cash reward offered.' In my line of work . . . well in my old line of work that is not a good thing."
I told her I had removed the painting, found out who he was, then drove to his house.
When I found where he lived, I was amazed. There was a little more than a thousand feet of property along a road, and the entire front was guarded by a concrete and brick fence eight feet tall, topped by razor wire. The wrought iron gate looked strong enough to stop anything, short of a bulldozer or tank.
From what I could see through the gate, inside was another fence only chain link this time. That second fence was about 30 feet inside and was also eight feet tall, and again topped with razor wire. The two fences must have cost a fortune.
I had originally planned on paying him an unannounced visit, since I didn't know who I was dealing with, but I assumed anyone who would go to that length to ensure his privacy must also have other "unseen" security measures as well.
I finally just drove up to the gate, then called the number he had left on the poster.
Rutledge opened the front gate and I drove through before having to stop at the second gate. The second gate didn't open until the first gate had closed.
"I had to drive nearly a mile before I came to his house, although house might not be the proper term," I told Jiao.
"It wasn't quite an English castle . . . but close," I added, "containing some 30 different rooms and the entire front was covered in ivy."
"Rutledge had built it after World War II, but it looked as though it had been there for a couple of hundred years," I said.
"His first words to me when I finally met him were, 'You have to be some kind of government agent.'"
I told her we started talking and I really found myself liking him.
"We talked for several hours, and I gave him my cell phone number, and asked him to have all the paintings removed. He agreed, then called me a couple of weeks later and asked if I would be interested in taking a drive in the mountains," I said.
"I was the first person he had invited into this basement in over 30 years, and he explained why he had built it and how secure it was.
"I fell in love with the valley outside the first time I saw it, and he could see that. I told him to let me know if he ever wanted to sell it. I might not be able to afford to pay too much, but I would pay what I could and try to finance the rest.
"Rutledge was an old, old man, and when I said that, he told me he probably wasn't going to live long enough to sell it since the doctors had only given him six months.
"He asked me what I did for a living, and for the very first time I told someone what I did for a living – well, what I used to do for a living. In fact, for the very first time I told someone my complete life history. He was impressed.
"When he asked how much I could afford, I said half-a-million, which was my entire life savings at the time, and he stuck his hand out and said sold. We arranged the transfer of funds, which was very complicated since neither of us wanted our names associated with the property. He had the property for over 50 years, having inherited it, and yet his name was not currently on any deed or tax roll.
"We started coming up here every chance we had, and he showed me everything, and how it worked.
"Four months later he was dead," I concluded. "That was about eight months ago."
I continued to just sit at the table, remembering Rutledge.
Jiao got up, then sat down on my lap and gave me a toe-curling kiss!
"So, did he ever admit to stealing any of the treasurers?" she asked.
I laughed, and said not really.
"The closest he ever came was he once said 'you are only guilty if they can prove something,' so no he never really admitted anything," I told her.
"He was the closest thing I had to a father, since my own father died when I was 12," I told Jiao. "Even if he did steal treasurers after the war, it doesn't bother me.
